


Solunee Gold

by Island_of_Reil



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: 420Fest, Big Damn Reefers, Bongs, Broken Bones, Csevet Rolls A Perfect Joint, Doritos - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Happy 4/20!, Hurt/Comfort, Hypodermic Needles, Maia Blazes One, Maia Gets Really Fucking High, Marijuana, Opiates, Pain, Politics, Proclamations, The Bongmakers’ Guild, Weed Connection Csevet, brief mention of gore, cottonmouth, pregnant!Csethiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: After badly breaking his leg, Maia needs pain relief, but he also needs to be able to function as emperor. Csevet might have the ideal solution…
Relationships: Csethiro Ceredin/Maia Drazhar, Csevet Aisava & Maia Drazhar, Kiru Athmaza & Maia Drazhar, Maia Drazhar & A Big Damn Bong, Maia Drazhar & A Big Damn Reefer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: 420 Fanworks Fest





	Solunee Gold

It happened far too fast. One moment, Maia was joyfully cantering along on Velvet under the noonday sun — brighter than it had been in many months, for spring was within tantalizing reach — with Lieutenant Beshelar and Cala Athmaza following him at a discreet distance on their own mounts. The next, Velvet was screaming, and Maia was sailing through the air to land on the cold, hard ground with a loud and body-jolting _crack._

 _“Serenity!”_ Beshelar shouted, and within seconds he had dismounted his gelding and was kneeling at Maia’s side.

“Serenity, are you all right?” Cala called out, swinging himself off his own mare.

“Why did you not prevent him from falling, maza?” Beshelar demanded, his ears flat to his scalp and his voice raw with anger and terror.

“We prevented him from breaking his neck,” Cala said, quite civilly but with a shortness that would have been unremarkable in anyone else. “There are limits to the powers of a maz that must be cast within two seconds. Do you think this was foul play, Beshelar?”

Beshelar shook his head. “No sign of it, though of course Captain Orthema will want to have a look around. Mostly likely the damned beast shied at a snake, of which these fields have no shortage.”

“Thank you both,” Maia said, staring at his right shin. His brain seemed not to want to understand why a long white shard of bone, with red strands of gore attached, was poking up through the grey wool of his trousers. It was a pity, he thought; Dachensol Atterezh had devoted so much time to tailoring this riding-suit for him.

“We will carry you back to Court ourself, Serenity,” Beshelar said now, his voice tightly controlled but attempting reassurance. “We apologize in advance an we cause you pain.”

“It does not hurt at all,” Maia said with some amazement, still staring at the wrack of his shin.

“You are in shock, Serenity,” Cala said. “It will begin to hurt before long, we are sorry to say.”

“Can you call a maz for the pain?” Beshelar demanded of Cala as he braced his left arm under Maia’s shoulders and hips, then vaulted back into the saddle with his right.

“Unfortunately that would be one of Kiru Athmaza’s talents, not ours,” Cala said with even greater regret as he remounted his horse and fastened its reins to Velvet’s. “We could send her a dream urging her to awaken and meet us in Doctor Ushenar’s surgery, but he will have poppy extract to hand, and we should all arrive there before she could.”

****

Cala had spoken in sooth, Maia thought, gritting his teeth as Beshelar and Doctor Ushenar’s apprentice arranged him with, for the lieutenant, surprising gentleness on the hard, flat leather couch in the examination room.

“Serenity,” Ushenar said, bowing before him. The doctor was of middle years, burly if not overly tall, and gruff of voice; if he were not as comforting a presence as Kiru Athmaza, he exuded a practicality and a lack of nonsense that were reassuring in and of themselves. “We are truly sorry to see you in such condition. We will have to set your leg bone manually; and then, we are _extremely_ sorry to say, we must perform chirurgerie to insert pins, so that the bone will heal straight and not impede your stride.”

Maia closed his eyes. Though his heart was pounding and his forehead slick with sweat, he merely said, “Get on with it.”

“‘Get on with it’?” Csethiro’s voice rang off the walls and the tiled floor. “You do intend to give him aught for the pain first, Doctor, do you not?”

“Of course, Zhasan,” Ushenar said smoothly. “This is the Alcethmeret, after all, not a medic’s tent on a battlefield. We are not wanting for poppy extract.”

Heels clacked on tile as Csethiro moved decisively toward the couch, unhindered by the changes to her physique in this eighth month of her first pregnancy. She laid a hand on Maia’s shoulder and began to squeeze it repetitively. It was meant to comfort him, Maia realized, but her squeezes seemed to time themselves with the throbbing in his shin. It had begun, deep and dull, when he and Beshelar were within a few yards of the entrance to court. By the time Beshelar was carrying him through the corridors before countless wide-eyed gawkers of all social ranks and then mounted the stairs of the Alcethmeret, the flesh around the break had begun to swell and turn a dark crimson. It felt as though steel blades were lacerating it from the inside out.

Ushenar had moved to a table on which various vials and other medical apparatuses were arranged. Now he turned around and approached Maia again, a wicked-looking syringe in his right hand. Though Maia knew the amber-colored substance within would dull the vicious pain in his right lower leg, he couldn’t help but shudder at the sight, nor keep his ears from going back.

“This will sting for but a moment, Serenity,” Ushenar said in his frank voice, more quietly than usual. The needle sank into Maia’s arm within an inch of the scar from the firescreen at Edonomee. Maia sucked in his breath, Csethiro’s hand tightening on his shoulder — and then all the pain rolled out of his body as if on an ocean wave, and with a sigh of relief he sank beneath that wave.

****

He woke to a solitary gaslight amid evening shadows, deep queasiness, half-remembered nightmares, and the sense that his head was full of cobwebs. When he tried to sit up, the room began to spin and his right lower leg to throb.

“Serenity!” Lieutenant Telimezh’s voice now; his arm was immediately about Maia’s waist. “Please, do not exert yourself.”

“Let us raise the couch for you, Serenity,” the apprentice, at Maia’s other side, said. The young man reached down below Maia’s field of vision, his shoulder muscles working visibly beneath his shirtsleeve. With a steady creak, the upper half of the couch began to rise, lifting Maia with it until he was sitting up straight.

He looked down. He was wearing only a nightshirt, and from knee to toe his lower right leg was bound in a cast. The shattered bone pulsed dully under the layers of plaster.

“How long must we remain here?” he asked hoarsely. “And may we please have a glass of water, Doctor…?”

“Oh — we are not ‘Doctor’ yet, Serenity, just Mer. Mer Thesar. And of course you may.” Mer Thesar hastened to a counter where stood a large pitcher of water and a tumbler, and he filled the latter with the former and brought it to Maia. Maia drank the entire glass in one swallow.

“Let us take that back from you, Serenity,” Mer Thesar said anxiously. “As for how long you must remain here, we were waiting for you to awaken, to make sure you did so without complications. We will help your soldier-nohecharis arrange you into a rolling chair.”

“We will employ a maz that you may reach the Alcethmeret with minimal pain, Serenity,” Kiru Athmaza added, somewhere out of Maia’s sight.

“And we, Serenity, will carry you up the stairs of the Alcethmeret,” Telimezh added.

Maia would not remember much of it after Kiru began to sing softly. Reality began to fold itself around him, like the petals of a flower made of velvet, and he was eased into a softer, subtler lull than Doctor Ushenar’s injection had induced. He was not fully unconscious; he could still hear Kiru’s singing, and an occasional, hushed exchange of directions between Telimezh and Mer Thesar. But he felt no pain, and he barely felt the sensations of ambulation.

The petals fell away, one by one, and Maia was supine in his own bed, several inches from the edge. A frame with a pulley had been set up at the foot, and his injured leg was hoisted high into the air.

“Are you comfortable, Serenity?” came Kiru’s voice.

“Very much, thank you. But, Kiru Athmaza, how are we to conduct imperial business in this condition?”

“Most of it will have to be postponed, Serenity,” she replied, stepping into Maia’s line of sight. Telimezh had assumed his position near the doors. “Some of it will be manageable from your bed, but unfortunately even that will have to wait for a day or two. You have suffered a major injury, and chirurgerie is yet another powerful insult to the flesh. Until your body has adjusted to it and initiated the healing process, you will likely feel fatigued and will not enjoy the full sharpness of your faculties.”

“You speak in sooth, we fear,” Maia said, yawning. “Where is our empress? Being attended to by her edocharo?”

“Csethiro Zhasan will sleep in another room for at least several days, Serenity,” Kiru said. “It is best that she not jostle you. For her part, and to the benefit of your heir which she carries, she will likely obtain a better night’s rest apart from you until we, Doctor Ushenar, and Mer Thesar have settled upon a more optimal means of controlling your pain.”

Maia swallowed. “Could you not simply cast a maz for it?”

Kiru shook her head, making her queue sway behind it. “Sadly, Serenity, pain is a complex phenomenon. A pain maz can address it temporarily, but it must be cast again and again, and we would have to balance it with our need to protect you from mazeise threats.”

“And, of course, you are the only dachenmaza with healing skills at the moment,” Maia said ruefully.

Kiru clasped her hands together. “We would suggest putting the worry out of your mind for a few days, Serenity. You will not be doing much except lying abed, mostly asleep. We can then reassess the degree of pain you are feeling. Worrying will do little but increase your pain and hinder your healing. We would very much encourage you to meditate, be it possible and you willing.”

Maia sighed. “We certainly will try. For the moment, however, may we please ask you to sing us to sleep again?”

Suddenly, Kiru smiled. “Of course, Serenity.”

****

He awoke to a cloud-dimmed bedchamber, a pounding pulse, a dry mouth, and a steady throb in his lower leg. Weakly, he called out, “Lieutenant Beshelar? Cala Athmaza?”

“Serenity,” Beshelar said sharply, pushing back the bed-curtains. “How are you feeling? We hope you are not fevered?”

“We … do not think so,” Maia said, frowning. “We do have the sense that the poppy extract has continued to affect our dreams.”

“Doctor Ushenar left word that he will visit you mid-morning, Serenity,” Cala said, poking his own head through the curtains. “In the meantime, your edocharei will attend to you, and shortly thereafter the kitchen-maids will come up with breakfast trays for you and Csethiro Zhasan.”

The word _breakfast_ made Maia’s belly twist sourly. “We are not at all hungry.”

“Kiru Athmaza said that might be the case, Serenity, when she spoke to us at the change of our shifts,” Cala said. “But she recommends you eat and drink what you can, in order to keep your strength up.”

Esha, Nemer, and Avris duly appeared at Maia’s bedside, exclaiming in dismay over his condition. As he could not very well be moved to the bathing chamber, they relieved him of his sweat-soaked nightshirt, arranged an oilcloth beneath his body to keep the bed-linens dry, and washed all of him but his lower right leg with cloths wetted in a basin of soapy, scented water. After drying him with towels and removing the oilcloth, they worked him into a fresh nightshirt, brushed washing-powder through his curls, and pulled them back into a queue for sleep.

“Hopefully we will soon be making you presentable again for visitors,” Nemer said somewhat archly. “Ah — Zhasan!” He spun and bowed deeply, Esha and Avris following his lead.

“Darling. How art feeling?” Csethiro, her brow creased, hastened to his side. She barely seemed to notice the edocharei, nor the First Nohecharei bowing to her as well.

Maia let her clasp his hand in hers. “I’ve been better, in sooth.”

“I should think so. Perhaps wilt feel a touch better after there’s some breakfast in thee.” As if on cue, the aroma of scrambled eggs drifted into the bedchamber. Maia’s gut clenched again.

Isheian entered with a breakfast tray balanced on one arm and a similarly laden bed-tray on the other. Trailing her was another kitchen maid, an elven girl of about twelve years who must have been new, carrying a small folding table. “This is Delo, Serenity, Zhasan,” Isheian said, bowing low to first Maia and then Csethiro; Delo repeated the gesture. She looked both nervous to be in the imperial bedchamber and horrified to see her emperor in such a distressed and vulnerable condition. “We are so sorry about your accident, Serenity!” Isheian exclaimed with genuine sympathy, her shyness forgotten. “Kiru Athmaza bid us brew you some willow tea, which helps with pain. It’s very bitter, so you’ll want to take it with sugar or honey.”

“Thank you both, Isheian, Delo,” Maia said as Beshelar pulled up a chair to the bedside for Csethiro.

“Yes, thank you both,” Csethiro said perfunctorily to the maids, her eyes still on Maia. Delo set up the little table beside her chair, and Isheian placed the regular tray on it and set up Maia’s bed-tray. Then they repeated their bows and exited with alacrity. From beyond the door Maia heard a muffled exclamation from what sounded like Delo, and then a male voice.

“Who now?” Csethiro muttered in an undertone, lifting the cover off Maia’s dish. He fought not to retch at the smell of eggs and buttered toast. “Ah, good morning, Mer Aisava,” she said brightly.

“Csevet?” Maia pushed himself up straighter in bed.

“Serenity!” Csevet’s eyes were as wide as Isheian’s and Delo’s had been as he stared at Maia’s leg cast. Then he caught himself and bowed deeply, one to Maia and once to Csethiro. “Zhasan. Serenity, we wanted to reassure you that we and our undersecretaries have everything under control for the next several days. It is widely understood that you cannot be available just now, and the bulk of the morning’s correspondence is get-well wishes in any case. However, you need not fret about either letters or meetings: you must focus on regaining your strength.”

“Perhaps, Mer Aisava, you might therefore like to talk him into eating his eggs,” Csethiro said wryly.

Csevet went politely blank. Maia said to him, half-apologetically, “We were given poppy extract. It is … not conducive to hearty eating.”

“In sooth, it is not, Serenity,” Csevet agreed, his face regaining expression. “Will Doctor Ushenar and Kiru Athmaza be able to assuage your pain with less… overpowering methods?”

“We are unsure of that. It seems that the only alternatives are a healing maz, which has its limitations, and…” Maia gestured at his tray. “…willow tea. Perhaps other sorts of tisanes as well.”

Csevet’s face blankened again, but this time he seemed to be contemplating something. However, rather than enlighten Maia and Csethiro as to the train of his thoughts, he abruptly refocused his attention upon Maia and nodded. “We have cleared your schedule for the next four days, Serenity. An Doctor Ushenar decides that your leg can be lowered temporarily after the third day, you can be brought in a rolling-chair to the Rose Room for a limited number of audiences. An he decides otherwise, we can continue to bring you correspondence to review in bed while we keep your schedule clear for the interim. Bedside audiences are another possibility, but we would not recommend them for any but a very select few, such as Lord Berenar or Captain Orthema.”

“Indeed, we think such an occasion in our current condition might present a challenge for our edocharei,” Maia said drily. “Thank you, Csevet.”

“Of course,” Csevet said, his voice warming and a smile hovering over his lips. “As we ourself have had a few similarly grievous mishaps on horseback, you have our complete understanding and sympathy.”

****

“Serenity,” Kiru and Telimezh said in unison, bowing to Maia.

“Good evening to you both,” Maia said foggily as Nemer propped a pillow behind him.

“How are you feeling tonight, Serenity?” Kiru inquired.

Maia shook his head, wishing he could dispel the sensation that it was stuffed with cotton. “Not much differently. Our leg began to throb shortly before luncheon, so Doctor Ushenar gave us another injection of poppy extract. We have slept most of the day away. As you warned, it has left us somewhat less than sharp. And …” He grimaced, feeling his face warm. “It has not been conducive to, er, normal digestive processes.”

Kiru nodded in sympathy. She was silent for a moment. Then she said, with an unusual hesitancy, “Serenity, we were approached by Mer Aisava last night.” Maia, puzzled, waited for her to continue. She did: “He had a suggestion for us, in terms of managing your pain while permitting you to carry out your duties.”

Maia blinked. “Csevet did?”

“Yes, Serenity. There is an herb, called _kanabis_ —” she pronounced it in the Barizheise manner, the accent on the first syllable “— certain strains of which provide relief from pain and ease of sleep. Such strains can also intoxicate, if too much is consumed. But there are other strains of kanabis that do not impair sharpness of mind and may even enhance it.”

“May we ask why you yourself did not broach the subject of this herb with us first, before Csevet suggested it?” Maia asked with a frown of confusion.

“Because, Serenity, kanabis is outlawed in the Ethuveraz.”

Maia stared at her. “Why on earth would the use of a healing herb that Orshan in her beneficience has given us be deemed against the law?”

Kiru shook her head with a sad smile. “Kanabis was first cultivated in Barizhan, Serenity, and it is strongly associated with that country. Previous emperors, including your late father His Serenity Varenechibel Zhas, deemed it a corrupting influence on the Ethuverazheisei.”

Maia continued to stare at Kiru, vaguely aware that at some point he must have begun to look every inch the moonwit Setheris had often named him. Then he shook his own head and covered his face with his palm.

Kiru continued, “Obviously, as emperor, you have the prerogative of introducing a bill to the Parliament proposing that the legal status of kanabis be changed, and to ask the Corazhas for their assistance in drafting it. However, we are not sure of the political ramifications of your using the herb at all, Serenity, let alone changing the laws surrounding it, given … much that has happened during your reign.”

“But surely, Kiru Athmaza, your prescribing us this … kanabis would be a private and discreet matter?” Maia asked. His head throbbed. He wondered if he were not understanding something very plain and simple, due to his condition.

“The odor of kanabis is extremely pungent, Serenity,” Kiru said. “Your edocharei, and the launderers of the Alcethmeret, would need to work quite hard to keep it out of your clothing and hair. Especially if you were to smoke it.”

“Smoke it? As in, place it in a brazier, and inhale the vapors?” Maia had heard of clerics and mystics parkating of sacred herbs in such a manner.

“No, Serenity. Often one uses a pipe.” To Maia’s continued look of confusion, Kiru added, “A small tube made of wood, bone, or glass. One places the kanabis at one end, ignites it, and inhales the smoke from the other end. There are different sorts of pipes for this purpose, some of them kinder to the lungs than others. And sometimes kanabis is rolled up in a small sheet of paper and smoked.”

“We see,” Maia said. “Well, we certainly have enough sheets of paper in the Tortoise Room—”

“Oh — no, Serenity, it would be a special kind of paper, very thin. You would certainly not want to use good stationery, especially an it were soaked with ink. The burden to your lungs would be too great.”

“We see,” Maia repeated rotely. He dismissed, with some regret, the thought of putting to better use far too many items of correspondence that landed daily upon his desk.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. Telimezh went to it and a moment later admitted Csevet, who had a thick, dark-brown leather strap over his right arm. On his back, Maia recognized the courier’s knapsack that had accompanied Csevet to Edonomee, carrying the fateful letter from Ulevis Chavar.

Csevet set the knapsack down upon the floor, against the wall. “Serenity,” he said with a deep bow; “Kiru Athmaza,” with a shallower bow.

“Mer Aisava,” Kiru said, bowing in turn.

He turned back to Maia. “How do you feel this evening, Serenity?”

“As we said to Kiru Athmaza, not exceedingly well. She has told us that you spoke with her about an herb called kanabis?”

Csevet flushed slightly; there was a sudden slight tension to his mouth and jaw that spoke, uncharacteristically, of nervousness. “Yes, Serenity. We were hesitant to recommend it, due to the political controversy surrounding it—”

Maia nodded. “Kiru has explained it in brief. We presume you can provide additional details thereof when we are feeling rather better.”

“Yes, Serenity. Are we to understand that you are nonetheless willing to try kanabis?”

“Of course we are,” Maia said with some impatience. “We do not think that lying groggily abed for a week or more could be any less disruptive than … some unpleasant odor on our clothing, we take it?”

Csevet’s facial muscles seemed to relax, except for a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “We will let you be the judge of that, Serenity.” And with that, he retrieved his knapsack and withdrew from it a tightly sealed jar made of dark glass. When he broke the seal on the lid, the bedchamber was instantly filled with a heavy, penetrating scent that seemed to be equal parts costly spices, pine needles, damp earth, and musk.

Maia’s nostrils twitched. “So that is … kanabis?”

“Yes, Serenity. A strain called Solunee Gold, originally cultivated in Solunee-over-the-water.”

“But… kanabis is illegal, Csevet. How on earth did you obtain it?”

“‘Illegal,’ Serenity,” Csevet said with his perfectly blank courier’s face, “does not mean ‘unobtainable.’ It may surprise you to learn that finding kanabis in the courier dormitories is roughly as difficult as finding clover in a field.”

“We see,” Maia said, feeling very much the country bumpkin. Telimezh looked scandalized. Kiru looked mildly amused.

“Do you have a pipe with which His Serenity can smoke the kanabis, Mer Aisava?” Kiru asked.

“We will obtain a smoking-apparatus for His Serenity within a day or two, Kiru Athmaza. But at such short notice we only had time to procure rolling-papers.” Csevet dug into his knapsack again and produced a small scroll of what appeared to be very thin, pearly-translucent white paper, as well as a plain ceramic mortar and pestle. “We apologize, Serenity. The smoking-apparatus will be much easier on your lungs.”

“Please don’t apologize, Csevet,” Maia said. “You have gone well above and beyond the duties of your station for us.”

This time Csevet’s blush suffused his entire face and both of his ears. “It is our job to make your duties easier, Serenity. And, in sooth, it was hardly the most difficult task.”

He tore off a small portion of the rolling-paper, which appeared to be perforated, and lay it flat on the little table that the kitchen-maids had brought in for Csethiro that morning. It curled upward at both sides. Csevet set the mortar down upon one side and the pestle upon the other. Then he removed a little pouch from the dark jar. As he loosened the drawstring, the scent of kanabis grew more powerful, to the point of cloying. While Maia did not find it wholly unpleasant, he better understood Kiru’s warning that it would cling persistently to fabrics. Telimezh’s nose wrinkled, but he said nothing. Maia tried to imagine Lieutenant Beshelar’s reaction.

Csevet shook out some of the contents of the pouch, a few thick, dark-green clumps of what appeared to be dried leaves, into the mortar. He then picked up the pestle, letting one side of the rolling-paper curl upward again, and began to grind the clump of kanabis. The thick odor waxed even stronger. After a moment, he shook out the contents of the mortar onto the rolling-paper with neat, precise motions, forming a more or less even line of it, and then using the tip of one fingernail to scrape what remained out of the little bowl and off the grinding surface of the pestle. Maia wondered offhandedly how costly kanabis was. If it could not be legally obtained, he imagined, then it could not be cheap. He would have to ask Merrem Esaran to reimburse Csevet for it.

Csevet was now rolling the paper lengthwise, tightly about the bulk of dried kanabis. He raised it to his mouth and, very neatly, licked the edge of it as he might do an envelope. Then he continued to roll it, pressing gently to make sure the gum adhered properly. At last, he held up the final results: a thick tube of paper and kanabis perhaps five inches long.

“Merciful goddesses,” Maia said again, staring in apprehension. “Are we to … consume the entire thing?”

“Oh — no, Serenity,” Csevet said, his eyebrows raised. “You may wish to inhale from the papelette perhaps two or three times, no more. Solunee Gold is a very powerful strain. When you are done, the papelette should be placed into the jar with the remainder of the loose kannabis and saved for the next night, for exposure to air will dry out the resins and make the herb lose its potency.”

He then reached again into his pouch and withdrew a little lighter, plated in much-battered silver. “Serenity, please set one end of the papelette between your lips. We will light the other end, at which time you should draw upon the papelette. Try to hold the smoke in your mouth for a few seconds, push it down into your lungs by taking in fresh air, and, finally, exhale.”

Still feeling dubious about the entire proposition, Maia obediently placed the tip of the little roll between his lips. The flame of the lighter flared, the opposite end of the papelette glowed red in the evening dim, and Maia breathed in —

— too deeply. He doubled as far forward as the limited range of his body’s motion would permit, coughing and hacking as if he had just sucked in the smoke from a brazierful of coals. Csevet caught the hapless tumbling papelette before it could ignite the bed-curtains, and Kiru thumped Maia judiciously on the back until he ceased to cough.

“We apologize, Serenity,” Csevet said ruefully. “That sometimes happens the first time one smokes kanabis.”

“We…. see,” Maia croaked. His eyes were watering; he was sure they were bloodshot. His broken leg was aching again, sheerly from the violence of his coughing fit.

“We would strongly suggest trying again, Serenity, an you are amenable,” Csevet said. “Remember, draw the smoke only into your mouth initially, not into your lungs. Do not be afraid to do so slowly. When you feel you have expended about two thirds of your lung capacity, take the papelette out of your mouth and finish the inhalation with ordinary air. Pause for two or three seconds, no more, and then breathe out.”

With no little trepidation, Maia watched the lighter once more ignite the other end of the papelette, which had been slightly blackened from the first attempt. This time he heeded Csevet’s advice more closely. The smoke still felt rough inside his throat and lungs, although not as much as it had before. He exhaled heavily, watching fine curls of smoke unwind and dissipate into the darkness under the bed-canopy.

“One more, perhaps, Serenity?” Csevet inquired solicitously.

“We suppose so,” Maia said. The flame hissed, the paper glowed red, Maia inhaled kanabis and then air…

“…oh,” he said as the bedchamber seemed to tilt on some sort of hidden axis.

“Ah,” Csevet said with a decorous kind of satisfaction, pressing the lit end of the papelette against the lid of the jar to crush out the embers.

Kiru peered at him more closely. “How do you feel now, Serenity?”

Maia blinked very slowly. “We… we are fine, Kiru Athmaza. At least, we think so?” And then the idea of being unsure of his own condition struck him as vastly amusing, and he began to laugh.

“We think your perception is correct, Serenity,” Csevet said, unscrewing the jar lid and securing both pouch and papelette within.

“Indeed, Mer Aisava,” Kiru said.

“My — our _perception!_ Merciful goddesses.” He did not think he could have managed to explain why this, too, was hilarious, but for the next minute he demonstrated for them both that it patently was.

“How does your leg feel, Serenity?” Kiru asked eventually.

Catching his breath, wiping his eyes, Maia considered the question very carefully. On the one hand, his leg felt better than it had since he had fallen from Velvet. On the other hand, it could not be _healed_ by now, in sooth? What would Kiru’s expression be if he told her he wished to hold another ball tomorrow night and dance with Csethiro across the ballroom floor? He began to giggle again, imagining it.

“We take it that the kanabis is having an analgesic effect, then, Serenity?” Kiru remarked.

“Er… we… suppose?” Maia said, the very last word coming out in a sort of squeak. The squeak was more amusing than all the preceding sources of amusement put together.

“Well,” Csevet said over Maia’s laughter. “This seems to have been a beneficial idea. We hope you, Serenity, and you, Kiru Athmaza, will pardon us if we retire for the evening? We will have a busy morning ahead of us once again.”

“ _‘Good night, good rest, better man than all the rest,’_ ” Maia sang, quoting the lyrics to a song that had been popular at court last autumn. He sang, he realized, horribly. Which was very funny. He wondered if he should call Setheris back to court so that he could sing to him for hours on end. Which was even funnier.

Csevet had pinkened thoroughly again at the song lyrics, but the corners of his mouth were quivering again as he packed up his knapsack. “And a very good night to you, Serenity,” he said, bowing deeply. He executed the less-formal bow to Kiru, wished her good night as well, and made his departure.

“Lieutenant Tel—imezh —” Maia hiccuped. “Could you please remove the pillow from behind us?”

“Certainly, Serenity,” Telimezh said curtly. His face was a dull red, and his ears did not seem to know whether they wished to remain erect or to droop, as he helped Maia lie back against the pillows.

Maia stared up at the wrestling cats that embellished the bed-linens. And then the thought struck him: _Father. I am smoking kanabis in thy bed. Corrupting it! I hope thou canst see me doing so from Ulis’s realm!_ It was the most hilarious thing out of a great many hilarious things that had occurred to him in the last ten minutes, and he quite expended himself in laughter to the point that Kiru felt obliged to wipe his eyes for him. Though he eventually subsided, he was still chuckling to himself as he drifted into sleep.

****

“Kiru,” Maia croaked, awakening with regret from delightful dreams he only half-remembered.

“Yes, Serenity?” came her voice from outside the bed-curtains.

“Our mouth is … extremely dry,” he said.

He heard the sound of water being poured from the great cut-glass pitcher kept in the bedchamber for him and Csethiro, and then Kiru saying something quietly to Telimezh. She parted the curtains to hand Maia his glass, which he drank down in one long swallow. “Better, Serenity?”

“…somewhat,” he said as he handed the glass back to her. “Not entirely.”

She produced something out of a pocket in her robe. “A hard candy might help, Serenity. Especially a sour one. We made sure to bring a few bergamot drops for you.”

Maia unwrapped the drop from its little twist of wax paper and popped it into his mouth. And winced. On the positive side, it was certainly effective at making him salivate. Although that brought another realization with it: “We seem to be quite hungry as well, in sooth,” he said somewhat unclearly around the bergamot drop.

“We will send down to the kitchens for a light repast before your breakfast, Serenity,” Kiru said.

“Is’t not too early?” Maia asked. No daylight was seeping into the bedchamber yet from around the edges of the draperies.

“The clock —” Kiru peered at the little clock on the nightstand, a more modest but no less lovely gift from the Clockmakers’ Guild than the emperor-clock. “— reads four-twenty in the morning, Serenity. Dachensol Ebremis’s apprentices awaken at three and are in the kitchens by three-thirty. We are sure one of them would gladly fix you something to tide you over until you and Csethiro Zhasan can take breakfast together.”

That “something” turned out to be a well-piled plate of little triangular crisps made of wheat, cheese, spices, and far too much salt for one who was troubled by a dry mouth. Nonetheless, they were delicious, and Maia found he could not stop eating them, even though he feared they would ruin his later breakfast.

“What are these called, Kiru, do you know?” he asked her through a mouthful of them.

But it was Telimezh who answered. “Serenity, they were concocted by an apprentice of Dachensol Ebremis who is always happy to supply them to peckish nohecharei, who are usually unable to sit down for a meal. He says the recipe originated in his family with his grandmother, whose name was Dorito; hence he calls them Dorito’s chips.”

“Dorito’s chips,” Maia said thoughtfully. Now that he had obtained restful sleep, proper hydration, and a semblance of nourishment — and, perhaps more importantly, that it had been many hours since he had smoked the kanabis — he did not take any amusement in the term. Yet the kanabis had imparted a deep sense of peace and wellbeing to him that yet lingered, and it made certain sights and sounds and phrases all the more vivid to him. “We would encourage this apprentice to create more … _Dorito’s chips,_ and perhaps even share the recipe, an he feels inclined.”

Miraculously, no matter how many of Dorito’s chips Maia consumed, he still felt quite ready to devour a full breakfast when the time came. Once he had been freshly cleansed and dressed and propped up in his bed, Isheian and Delo came in with trays, and on their heels came Csethiro — whose finely plucked brows shot up to her hairline as her nose wrinkled, her ears went back, and she appeared to gag slightly. “Great Anmura! Do I smell what I think I smell?”

“You most certainly do, Zhasan,” Beshelar said thunderously as he bowed to her. “We are _quite_ shocked that Kiru Athmaza would treat His Serenity with such a scandalous herb. And such a malodorous one,” he added in a mutter.

“Kiru Athmaza has explained the circumstances surrounding kanabis to us thoroughly,” Maia said to Csethiro.

“And His Serenity has already explained his decision to you, Beshelar,” Cala said drily to his partner.

Maia continued to Csethiro, “We decided forthwith that we should not suffer simply because our forebears had parochial notions. As for the odor, bed-linens may be washed and fumigated, and windows may be opened.”

“And servants may talk,” Beshelar added darkly.

 _“Nobody_ will speak ill of His Serenity in the Alcethmeret!” Isheian declared suddenly. Maia, Beshelar, Cala, and Csethiro all stared at her in surprise. She quailed a little, then continued with as much confidence as before: “We cannot imagine anyone who has worked for His Serenity for even a short time speaking badly of him at all, let alone for using an herb to ease his pain! An herb used by the most respectable grandmothers of Barizhan! None of them will gossip of it, we assure you all.”

“And what of the courtiers and governmental officials with whom he must meet in the Tortoise Room while convalescing?” Csethiro inquired, more evenly than Beshelar but still with concern.

“Oh, Zhasan,” Isheian said earnestly, “the laundresses know their craft well, and certainly His Serenity’s edocharei know theirs. Neither his clothing nor his hair will smell of kanabis for those audiences.”

“Well. That is comforting,” Csethiro said. “We much appreciate your collective devotion to our husband.”

Isheian’s face turned indigo, and she ducked her head. “Of course, Zhasan.” She and Delo made their bows before they departed in equal haste from the bedchamber, and if those bows were a bit on the rushed side, nobody remarked on it.

“So,” Csethiro said, sitting down at the table beside the bed. _“Has_ the ‘scandalous herb’ helped thy pain at all?”

“It has, in sooth,” Maia said, picking up a fork and digging enthusiastically into an omelet studded with small bits of venison. Then something occurred to him, and he looked up at Csethiro. “Thou recognized’st the smell immediately.”

“Mm,” Csethiro said from around a mouthful of her own omelet, not seeming to register the weight of the question.

“How didst know what kanabis smells like, then? Hast…” Maia trailed off.

She swallowed, chased the mouthful with water from her glass, and said matter-of-factly, “Once or twice. Even the inspirational strains tend to make me sleepy, which I mislike — I sleep perfectly well, no aids needed — and thus I decided I could live very well without it. Moreover, I find the odor noxious, and childbearing makes me despise it even more. Of course, I’d not dream of asking thee not to smoke it.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“And where and how didst obtain it?” Maia asked.

“Kanabis is not precisely hard to obtain, darling, for all that it’s illegal. It’s a favorite of creators: musicians, poets, actors, even inventors. Osmin Resin, who travels in the same circles as Vedero and me, has written treatises on its healing and inspirational properties. Of course, she cannot publish them without scandal. I imagine Kiru Athmaza has a privately made copy of at least one treatise, however, and perhaps even Doctor Ushenar does.

“In sooth, more people smoke it than wouldst think. Even some rather unlikely ones.” And, as it was only themselves and the ever-present, ever-discreet nohecharei in the bedchamber, she rattled off a long, long list of names. Between Setheris’s harsh schooling and Csevet’s patient tutelage, Maia knew every single name on the list. And most of them came as an utter shock to him.

“So, thou see’st,” Csethiro concluded breezily, “while it would be considered a scandal were the emperor or empress known to smoke kanabis, it is nonetheless widely if discreetly enjoyed by many Ethuverazheisei.”

Still staring dumbfoundedly at her, Maia asked, “And the Vigilant Brotherhood? What have they to say of this state of affairs?”

“Considering the bribes that the Vigilant Brotherhood accept from nobles and merchants of all ranks, Serenity, probably very little,” Beshelar said scornfully. “At least when it comes to those who can afford those bribes.”

“Sadly, it is not uncommon for folk without such means to be publicly flogged an they are caught with kanabis,” Cala remarked.

“Reprehensible,” Maia said, shaking his head. “We shall have to speak with the Corazhas about that.”

“You would put your reputation at risk in doing so, Serenity,” Beshelar warned him.

“We would put our reputation at risk an we did not try to correct such a blatant injustice in our realm,” Maia said coolly.

“Serenity,” Beshelar said. He had pinkened and still looked disapproving, but he added nothing more.

A knock was heard upon the bedchamber door. Cala opened it to admit Csevet and two sturdy young men who were carrying a crate between them. Judging from how they carried it, it did not seem overly heavy to Maia, but it was large and bulky. They set it down on the carpet and executed their bows to all present.

“Serenity,” Csevet said, divesting himself of his courier’s knapsack and then bowing in his turn. “Zhasan. As we promised you, Serenity, we have brought you a smoking-apparatus, created by a few members of the Glassblowers’ Guild who specialize in such creations.”

“Merciful goddesses,” Maia said. “They’ve created it already?”

“No, Serenity,” Csevet said, his mouth twitching once more. “They created this one quite a while ago, but had not been minded to part with it, as it is one of their favorite works. We know and trust one of them quite well, and we spoke to her of your predicament, upon which she pressed it upon us vehemently.”

One of the workmen produced a hammer from his pocket and commenced to prying up the nails in the crate lid. When that was done, he carefully pocketed the spent nails, while his partner set the lid aside. Then with great care, they both lifted out the object from the crate. It was large and irregularly shaped, and wrapped in a number of undyed linen cloths, which they began to unwrap.

“Cstheio Caireizhasan,” Maia said, his voice hushed in wonder, as the last cloth fell to the carpet.

“Anmura’s prick,” Csethiro said rather flatly at nearly the same time, making the workmen blush and their ears flag.

The smoking-apparatus consisted of a central vertical glass tube nearly three feet high, adorned with many more feet of serpentine glass that swooped and curved and bent back upon itself numerous times. The glass itself was shot through with the finest ribbons of color, a myriad of colors. And at various spots on the apparatus were attached little glass representations of each of the gods. There was the Dreaming Lady of the Stars, which studded her crown and her midnight-blue robes, with her eyes closed in contemplation. Anmura, masked and armed, the rays of the sun radiating out from behind his head. Cold-eyed Ulis, cupping the moon in his blue-tinged hands and holding it out before him. Salezheio standing amid a flurry of snowflakes with walking boots on her feet, an old-fashioned scroll in her hands, and a wind blowing her loose white hair awry. Plump and smiling Orshan, a basket of fruit in her arms. Osreian, countenance baleful and fists clenched, standing astride a great rent in the earth beneath her feet. Akhalarna, tumbling through the night sky in his human form. There was even the goblin goddess Ashevezhko, rising from the waves with a dolphin leaping behind her.

“Csevet… one smokes kanabis through _this?”_ Maia asked, his voice still quiet with awe. It seemed a shame to put such a remarkable creation to any practical use whatsoever, he thought, especially one that would make it reek.

“Indeed, Serenity,” Csevet said. He turned to the workmen. “Could one of you lads please fetch a pitcher of water?”

“Yes, Mer Aisava,” said the younger one, who bowed again to Maia and Csethiro and then disappeared through the door.

“Now, Serenity, we have brought you a different strain of kanabis today, called Amu’s Inspiration —”

“Amu?” Maia repeated. “As in Carcethlened?”

“Yes, Serenity. The poet is said to have partaken regularly and enthusiastically of kanabis. In fact, it inspired him to write his tales of the steamship _Lion of Orpezhkhahar_ , which is rumored to have been based on a real-life steamship that transported great bales of kanabis about the Chadevan Sea.” Csethiro was nodding along to this recital; Maia suspected it was common knowledge in her circles.

Shortly thereafter the workman returned with a full pitcher of water, which Csevet took from him. “Thank you. Now could one of you please set the crate lid back atop the crate, and then both of you place the apparatus at His Serenity’s bedside, with the downstem pointing away from him?”

They obeyed, Maia blinking in fascination as the fantastical item approached him more closely, and Csevet poured the water into an opening at the very top of the apparatus. After so doing, he retrieved his knapsack and laid out mortar, pestle, and jar atop the crate lid. It was a different dark-glass jar than the one which had held the Solunee Gold and the papelette. The odor it released when opened, while still quite sharp, seemed less musky this time, with notes to it that reminded Maia of bergamot and fresh grasses.

Carefully, so that bits of kanabis would not fall between the slats of the crate lid, Csevet ground up one clump of it. Then he compacted it into the silver-tipped end of a sort of stem that protruded at an angle from the body of the apparatus, and he produced his lighter. “Now, Serenity, the workmen will tilt the apparatus toward you, you will seal your mouth over its open upper end, and, as soon as we have touched the flame to the kanabis in the bowl of the downstem, you will begin to inhale very slowly. At first, you will want merely to draw the smoke up through the chimney — the central pipe — rather than into your mouth, let alone your lungs. We will let you know when to stop inhaling, although you will want to keep your mouth tightly in place over the upper end and breathe through your nose instead.”

“We are ready, Csevet,” Maia said.

As the workmen slowly tipped the apparatus toward him, Csethiro stood to brace him with her arm around his shoulders as he leaned toward the edge of the bed. The angle was not very comfortable, but he managed to seal his lips entirely around the upper end. When the lighter flared, he began to inhale through his mouth. “Good, Serenity,” Csevet said. “Good… now, without removing your mouth, please switch to breathing through your nose.” Maia did so, and Csevet pulled the little silver bowl out of the downstem. “Now, inhale deeply, hold the smoke in your lungs for no more than three seconds, and exhale into the room above all of our heads.”

Maia obeyed. The smoke abraded his throat and lungs far less than it had the other night. As he released the top of the chimney from his lips with a slight wet pop and blew the smoke high into the air, he blinked in startlement as a sense of …. _wellness,_ he could term it no other thing, began to diffuse through him.

“How does it affect you, Serenity?” Csevet asked.

“Rather nicely,” Maia said, adjusting to the feeling. It was not precisely like the peace and mental clarity he obtained from meditation. He felt more energetic, the metaphorical gears of his brain turning rapidly, and the anxiety he could never entirely quell, to his surprise, banished for the moment. “After breakfast with Csethiro Zhasan, we feel we will be eminently able to begin helping you whittle down the pile of correspondence and other paperwork that must have accumulated in the Tortoise Room by now.”

“Serenity,” Csevet said agreeably. He looked quite pleased.

“I’m glad the kanabis seems beneficial to thee,” Csethiro said, patting Maia’s arm as she released him to sit back down.

“Oh, and Csevet, an it please you,” Maia added, “bring with you the volume of general laws that deals with prohibited and regulated items in the Ethuveraz.”

****

“Serenity,” said Lord Deshehar, bowing along with the rest of the Witnesses as an adolescent page pushed Maia’s rolling-chair into the Verven’theileian, with Cala and Beshelar respectively fore and aft Maia and Csevet alongside him. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“We continue to feel markedly better these days, Lord Deshehar,” Maia said. It was true. His leg would not fully heal for at least another few months, despite his strenuous sessions with an associate of Doctor Ushenar’s who was helping him safely exercise it in order to strengthen it. But, thanks to the kanabis, his pain was now minimal, and his levels of energy were quite good. And the herb seemed to have imbued him with even greater elation at the most joyful thing he had ever experienced: Csethiro’s delivery of a healthy baby boy, whom they had named Chenela. Maia had already been looking forward to meeting his son, and expecting to be humbled by that meeting. But, he was sure, his daily partaking of Amu’s Inspiration seemed to have trebled the sense of wonder and awe with which Chenela’s entry into the world was stamped.

Now, he said to Deshehar, “We were hoping that, today, the Corazhas — yourself and Lord Pashavar in particular — could help us draft a few proposals for Parliament.”

Lord Pashavar instantly scowled, as did Lord Isthanar, while Lord Bromar’s eyes darted this way and that. Young Lord Seleär, who had replaced Lord Berenar as Witness for the Treasury, pulled a stone face to rival Csevet’s, as did Sonevet Athmaza, the Witness for the Athmaz’are. The Witness for the Prelacy, Canon Teneva, executed his regular impression of a doe frozen wide-eyed in torchlight. Deshehar, however, brightened. “Of course, Serenity! We are sure we will all be happy to hear your ideas once we have settled the usual Corazhaseize business.”

Settling the usual business took roughly half an hour, after which Deshehar looked encouragingly at Maia and inquired, “Now, Serenity, would you like to put forth your proposals to all of us?”

Though Maia was not entirely without apprehension, his morning dose of Amu’s Inspiration was helping him to keep it on a tight rein, as well as giving him a degree of confidence he had rarely enjoyed before. He glanced at each Witness briefly in turn, and then he said, “We wish to propose that the Parliament make the consumption of kanabis legal throughout the Ethuveraz.”

Pashavar, and a second later Isthanar, began to sputter. “Ka _na_ bis!” Pashavar shouted, stressing the second syllable and not the first. “Serenity, with all due respect, why would you _ever_ advocate for the promotion of that foul-smelling weed? Are you aware it is favored by all sorts of criminals and other lowlifes?”

“Are they criminals for other reasons,” Maia asked, “or are they merely criminals because they consume a substance that is contraband?”

“Did the chicken precede the egg, or was it the other way around?” Isthanar retorted. 

“And we would like to know, Serenity,” Pashavar continued hotly, “whether it was your secretary who proposed this idea to you? The courier fleet is notorious for its use of such scurrilous products; has Mer Aisava perhaps not _quite_ forsaken its use?”

“Lord Pashavar!” Maia and Csevet exclaimed simultaneously. Csevet looked as indignant as Maia had ever seen him, even more so than when he had been punching Odris Ubezhar in the nose.

“Lord Pashavar, you are _far_ out of line,” Deshehar said sternly. “Stand down, and we would _greatly_ recommend that you apologize to His Serenity’s secretary.”

“We agree,” Maia said, glaring at Pashavar and not bothering to unflatten his ears.

Maia’s addendum, rather than Deshehar’s admonition, seemed to check Pashavar. Looking faintly though not exceedingly abashed, he executed a serviceable bow to Csevet and said “Apologies, Mer Aisava.”

“Lord Pashavar,” Csevet said tightly. Bromar continued to seem to look for escape routes from the Verven’theileian, Teneva continued to seem to silently plead that Osreian would cause the floor to swallow him up, Seleär’s eyebrows had risen roughly half an inch, and Sonevet Athmaza maintained his unfathomable countenance.

Deshehar continued, “As to the issue at hand, we must say that His Serenity’s proposal is not without merit.” Pashavar and Isthanar immediately began to try to shout him down; he raised his voice and his hand. “No, please, hear us out.”

“Let him speak,” Maia said, projecting his own voice, which was still heavy with disgust for Pashavar’s accusation. Between Amu’s Inspiration and eighteen months of dealing with the Corazhas, channeling the voice of Edrehasivar VII was coming more easily to him than ever before.

When quiet fell again, Deshehar said, “There are treatises on the beneficial properties of kanabis” — he pronounced it the Barizheise way — “written by various scholars, mainly at Ashedro and Zhaö as well as at the Corat dav’Arhos. You must know that well yourself, Lord Isthanar, by dint of your role as Witness for the Universities. The current law forces such treatises to be published and circulated surreptitiously, but that does not negate the validity of their observations and experiments. In addition, many, many respectable elves partake of the herb. Lord Bromar, did we not personally see you doing so from a smoking-apparatus during one of Dach’osmer Rohethar’s galas?”

Maia suppressed a smile. Bromar’s name had been one of those that Csethiro had enumerated to him weeks before.

Bromar turned even whiter than his normal elven hue, then as red as a beet, and his ears trembled with his efforts to keep them erect. Pashavar’s, by contrast, went back. “Bromar!” he shouted. “In sooth?”

“Well, yes, Pashavar,” Bromar muttered, looking at the tabletop. “The apparatus was a gift from Osmer Mebrached, presented in public, and as Witness for Foreigners we were obliged to demonstrate our gratitude. Furthermore,” and his voice became even quieter, “we did not inhale.”

Pashavar and Isthanar erupted in scorn again, this time joined by Deshehar. Bromar seemed to slump to an infinitesimal degree in his seat. Teneva’s eyes were like saucers, and unlike Bromar he did not bother to keep his ears up. Maia noticed that the corner of Seleär’s mouth was twitching, and he was _sure_ he caught the split-second sight of Sonevet Athmaza rolling his eyes. Csevet, for his part, had assumed his courier’s stone face, but upon close inspection Maia perceived that his secretary’s lower lip was ever so slightly quivering, and his eyes appeared to be faintly glistening.

“Gentlemen,” he finally said, raising his voice once more. “Regardless of whatever personal history anyone in this chamber has with kanabis, both of Lord Deshehar’s overall points are valid. We would add that green growing things are gifts from Orshan, and to decry them in any way — especially one so beneficial — strikes us as blasphemous. Finally, as we are sure you all know, the history of the law surrounding kanabis in the Elflands is tinged with contempt toward the Barizheisei, the original cultivators of the herb. If nothing else, we would reject such prejudice, out of strong personal reasons.”

“Serenity,” all the Witnesses said in solemn near-unison, even Pashavar and Isthanar.

“Obviously,” Maia continued, “the ultimate decision is Parliament’s. However, with the earnest assistance of the two men in this room best acquainted with the relevant law — Lord Deshehar, as Witness for the Parliament; and Lord Pashavar, as Witness for the Judiciate — as well as that of our secretary, we believe we can produce a draft that would plead our case ardently and effectively.”

“Of course, Serenity,” Deshehar said.

Pashavar still looked dubious as to the entire proposition, but he too nodded and said, “We are at your Serenity’s service.”

“Serenity,” Lord Seleär said. “You said earlier that you wished to put forth ‘a few proposals.’ In addition to the legalization of kanabis, what did you have in mind?”

“We have two other proposals we would like to put before Parliament,” Maia said.

****

_To all citizens and other residents of the Ethuveraz, greetings!_

_Be it known to you both present and to come that the Parliament, at the initiation of His Serenity Edrehasivar VII, has decreed that the consumption of the Barizheise herb known as “kanabis” is now legal throughout His Serenity’s Empire; and that it shall be legal throughout any Territories that the Empire of the Ethuveraz may subsequently annex._

_In light of the above decree, the Parliament, again at the initiation of His Serenity, has also decreed that that a body should be set up in perpetuity, by the name of “The Master, Wardens, and Fellowship of the Art or Mystery of Kanabis Smoking-Apparatus Making of the City of Cetho,” hereinafter known as “the Kanabis Pipemakers’ Guild,” to include all members of the Glassblowers’ Guild with skills in such pipemaking craft or inclination to obtain such skills who are living within the Capitol, or a radius of ten miles around it; that under that name, the Kanabis Pipemakers’ Guild should have perpetual succession; that as a body, the aforementioned Guild should be entitled to acquire and dispose of property of all kinds; that as a body, the aforementioned Guild should have the same power as an individual to plead and defend any cause in any court; and that for business purposes, the aforementioned Guild should have and use a common seal, which it may alter or re-make at any time._

_Finally, once more at the initiation of His Serenity, the Parliament has granted an exclusive patent to Mer Kusha Lemondar, apprentice to Dachensol Ebremis, Master of the Kitchens of the Alcethmeret at the Untheileneise Court, for the production of the refreshment created by his grandmother, the late Merrem Dorito Lemondaran, and thus known as “Dorito’s Chips.” While Mer Lemondar is welcome to remain in the employ of Dachensol Ebremis for as long as he and the Master of the Kitchens desire, he may at any time, with material and legal support from His Serenity and his advisors, opt to set up a business operation the purpose of which is to produce mass quantities of Dorito’s Chips, that they may be enjoyed by all of the Ethuveraz, from the sweepers of its streets up to His Serenity himself._

_Witness the seals of the Parliament of the Ethuveraz at Cetho and the seal of His Serenity, Edrehasivar VII, this twentieth day of the fourth month, second year in the reign of Edrehasivar VII._

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I wrote [this little snippet](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/254729.html?thread=1427196425#cmt1427196425) almost three years ago, I’ve wanted to write a much longer weedfic for TGE. I’d originally intended to incorporate that snippet into this fic, but it didn’t really fit.
> 
> Obviously, “Solunee Gold” is _C. indica_ , while “Amu’s Inspiration” is _C. sativa._ The term “papelette” is based on the Spanish word ["papelate,"](https://wordwenches.typepad.com/word_wenches/2015/01/regency-tobacco.html) which preceded the French term “cigarette.” Maia’s bong was inspired by a number of highly ornate ones I’ve seen online, particularly Joe P’s [Peace of Mind](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bt9ysPIH73d/) and [Downtown Aquarium](https://www.instagram.com/p/B1J2uRuFr6K/), a [different Grateful Dead bong](https://cannabis.net/drive/1000/media/bong12.gif), Melodium Glass’s [Space Station](https://www.instagram.com/p/B3IA_5ond9P/), and [this one by Scott Deppe](https://www.instagram.com/p/yBDKezCsha/). Bergamot hard candies are a thing, most notably [Bergamote de Nancy](https://www.bergamote-nancy.fr/fr/bergamote-nancy.html). Finally, the language in the imperial charter of the Bongmakers’ Guild comes from [that of the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers, London](http://www.clockmakers.org/about/royal-charter/), granted by Charles II in 1631.
> 
> Thanks to [Zhisanin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhisanin/pseuds/Zhisanin) for looking this over and pointing out a few minor continuity issues.


End file.
